Chapter 6 - The Siege of Pier 42
The rain had turned into a thick, freezing fog by the time they reached Pier 42. The massive steel hull of the SS Iron Emperor loomed out of the mist like a rusting leviathan.
Armed mercenaries in dark gear patrolled the perimeter of the dock, their assault rifles slung low. High-powered floodlights swept across the slick concrete, creating stark shadows against the shipping containers.
"Eighteen guards on the dock," Vance reported through the comms ear-piece from his sniper position on a nearby warehouse roof. "Four more on the bridge of the ship. Julian's private motorcade just pulled up to the main gangway."
Mara peered through her night-vision binoculars. Down on the asphalt, a slender man in a bespoke gray trench coat stepped out of a Maybach. Julian Vale. He was laughing, smoking a thin cigar, completely oblivious to the shadow creeping up behind him.
"We don't go in loud," Adrian instructed Mara as they crouched behind a stack of wooden pallets fifty yards from the ship. "Arthur built the security systems on this vessel ten years ago. Is there an entry point they don't know about?"
Mara closed her eyes, recalling the blueprints she had memorized in the vault. "The ballast intake hatch on the starboard waterline. It's an emergency maintenance tube. It leads directly to the lower engine room—right beneath the hold where they'd store high-value cargo."
"Good," Adrian smirked. "You take the hatch and get to your father. I'll draw the main force to the upper deck."
"Adrian, that's suicide," Mara warned, grabbing his arm. "There are over twenty men out there!"
Adrian covered her hand with his own, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to her knuckles. "They have guns, Mara. But I have the home-field advantage. Go."
Before she could argue, Adrian broke cover.
He moved like a phantom through the fog. A silent flash, a muffled thwip-thwip of his suppressed weapon, and two dock guards collapsed into the dark water without making a sound.
Alert sirens instantly began to blare across the pier. Red emergency lights bathed the ship in a blood-colored glare.
"INTRUDER ON THE DOCK!" a voice screamed over the ship's loudspeakers. "PROTECT THE BOSS!"
While the swarm of mercenaries rushed toward the gunfire erupting near the gangway, Mara slipped silently into the icy water beneath the pier.
She swam toward the rusted starboard hull, finding the round ballast hatch just as her father's schematics had promised. Using a tactical crowbar from Vance's kit, she popped the emergency seal.
She pulled herself up into the dark, echoing belly of the ship.
The air inside smelled of diesel fuel, rust, and old sea salt. Mara drew her pistol, moving silently through the labyrinth of steel ladders and narrow pipes.
As she reached the door of the central cargo hold, she heard a sound that made her heart stop.
It was the heavy, rhythmic beat of a medical heart monitor, echoing through the empty steel chamber.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
Mara pushed the heavy bulkhead door open.
In the center of the vast, hollow hold, lit by a single overhead spotlight, was a medical gurney. Bound to it by leather restraints, surrounded by IV drips and monitoring equipment, was an old man with thin gray hair and a weathered, familiar face.
"Dad?" Mara cried out, running across the cold steel floor.
The old man's eyes fluttered open. He looked at her through a haze of sedatives, his cracked lips trembling.
"Mara...?" Arthur Bell whispered, his voice weak and raspy. "No... no, baby, you shouldn't have come... it's a trap..."
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Before Mara could reach the gurney, a cold, metallic voice echoed from the iron catwalk high above them.
"He's right, cousin," a voice purred. "It's always been a trap."
